The Bigger Person
by Etaleah
Summary: Olivier Armstrong is known as the general who's always ready to fight someone to teach them a lesson. But for Miles, the one time she proves wise enough not to fight is when he learns the most from her.


It wasn't often that the commander of Briggs and her most trusted comrade paid a visit to Central, and today was a prime example of why. As if the traffic, city stench, and highly unreasonable train fare weren't bad enough, it looked like they would have to shove their way through masses of civilians in order to reach the hotel. Miles frowned as he gazed out the window. There was a huge crowd gathered outside Central Command, and judging by the raised fists and shouting, it wasn't for anything good.

"Are you quite certain that a hotel is necessary, ma'am?" Miles asked again, which he knew was probably unwise. But to him it seemed an utter waste of money to have this enormous family mansion and not use it.

"Shut up, Miles," Olivier barked from her temporary desk. "It's my money and I'll spend it how I choose." She shoved a paper into its file. Why these stupid bastards couldn't just mail these forms to me I'll never know." She signed her name a few more times, then slapped her palms on the desk and pushed herself up. "Let's get out of here." Though she would never admit it, Miles could tell she was tired. It had been a long day for both of them.

Miles followed her, trying to avoid the looks they received as they passed through the main hall. Most people were still in the dark about their role in everything that had happened, and the two of them were still fending off questions about why a bunch of traitors were still serving in the military. Miles looked forward to finally being able to transfer to Ishval probably every bit as much as Olivier looked forward to being back at Briggs. But there was still quite a bit of wreckage to sort through in Central, literally and figuratively.

When they had cleared the hall, having resisted the temptation to tell multiple people to piss off, they stood on the steps of the building and watched the crowd. A balding man in his late fifties was standing in the middle of the circle, with the spectators giving him a wide berth. He was shouting something, they couldn't hear what. The crowd was a range of people, from children to the elderly, mostly civilian but a few military members. Several guards were standing around the corners in case it got out of hand.

"I didn't think Grumman would have trouble this early," Miles said.

"It's not our problem," Olivier said curtly, and grabbed his arm. "Let's go." She led him around the mass of people as much as she could, but eventually they hit a dead end where the gate began and they were forced to push through. Most of them moved aside easily once they saw uniforms, but for some reason Miles thought he counted more odd looks than usual. As soon as the man opened his mouth to speak again, he learned why.

"Now all of you listen here!" he shouted. "The Ishvalans are savages who want to kill Amestrians and destroy our country. They are primitive, dusty desert rats that need to get out of our land. Better yet, we oughta line 'em up and shoot 'em!"

Miles stopped. His fingers trembled, craving his gun, but he forced himself to stay calm by mustering up the self-restraint he'd been practicing for years. People backed away, eager to see how he'd react, but he ignored them. "Who the hell is this guy?" he demanded.

"No one important, so let's not waste our breath," Olivier said. She grabbed his arm again and tried to drag him away, but he shook her off. He didn't care if she was mad. Her peace and quiet could wait. By this point some of the folks in the crowd were yelling back, and a few were trying to convince others to disperse, go away, that the lack of an audience would shut him up. But the pull of the mob and potential for blood was too strong. Nobody moved an inch.

"They killed our soldiers!" the man shouted, red-faced and spitting. "They are anti-Amestrian, anti-alchemy, anti-progress, anti-science, and will be the reason this country falls."

"Shut up!" Miles shouted.

"Quiet, Miles. That's an order," Olivier said. Miles almost let his mouth fall open. _Traitor!_ This from the woman who was helping to lead the restoration?

The man was closer to him now. "You should rot in hell," he spat. "This world belongs to the superior race."

"There's no such thing," Miles said, ignoring Olivier's threats that if he didn't shut his mouth, she'd shut it for him. "Stop spreading lies. Ishvalans are human beings with human rights!"

"They're not real humans; they're desert rats!"

Miles charged forward, but was pulled back just before he could raise his fist. Olivier had a strong grip on him, one that belied her size and proved her Armstrong heritage even more than her hair and eyes.

"Miles, _don't_."

"Let me go, General! I'm not letting him get away with spreading that crap!"

"Calm down, idiot. He's not worth it."

Miles seethed with rage. Who was she to tell him not to give that bastard exactly what he deserved? Olivier fought people on a regular basis for saying things that weren't nearly this bad. If someone at Briggs had said that, she would have had her sword out faster than anyone could blink. And yet he wasn't allowed to defend himself when his own race was being publicly insulted?

"With respect, General—"

"No." She tightened her grip. "Unless you want to find yourself on the wrong end of my sword, you come with me. Now." She yanked him away.

Miles followed, shaking with anger and wanting to beat her almost as much as the man who was still shouting behind them.

* * *

Neither one spoke a word on the way to the hotel. They could practically feel the anger radiating off each other's bodies, and the minute they'd reached their rooms—both sparse, dirty, and cheap—Olivier wasted no time in dragging him into hers, closing the door, and crossing her arms.

"If you're going to be mad at me, then let's have it out right here and now instead of holding on to grudges."

"How could you let him get away with spreading those lies?" Miles said. "I thought you were on our side and that you respected the Ishvalan people."

"And what makes you think that's changed? Much as I would have liked to, I couldn't exactly slice him to bits with the crowd in the way."

"You didn't have to run away either," Miles argued. "We should have stood our ground. By not standing up to him, we made it look as though we agreed."

"So you're telling me people were laughing at that man because they agreed with him?"

He _hated_ that. Just about anything Olivier did was better than her sarcasm, that I'm-so-much-smarter-than-you tone, and it made him raise his voice to a shout. "People were _listening_ to him, General! Children were listening to him, children who have never seen an Ishvalan and don't know any better. How can we ever hope to prevent another war if the next generation gets their information from people like him? I thought you always said you don't tolerate liars! Other people were standing up to him, why weren't you? Why were you letting him get away with what he was doing? How _could_ you? You- you—" He stopped himself quickly.

Olivier glared. "Go on, say what you're thinking."

"You _coward_!"

Even before he felt the shockingly loud _snap_ of his face as her hand connected with it, he knew he'd made a big mistake. "Don't you _ever_ call me that again."

Miles wanted to say that she deserved it, but his burning cheek kept him quiet. She still had her sword and he knew she wouldn't hesitate to use it.

"You're a _fool_ , Miles. An even bigger fool than those people in the crowd. At least they knew where to draw the line. You would have physically attacked that man if I hadn't been there to stop you."

"And I should have!" Miles snapped.

Olivier's glare deepened. "Which is exactly what he _wanted_ you to do! Why do you think he was trying so hard to make you angry? He wanted you to take the bait. I did you a favor by stopping you."

"I cannot _believe_ you're taking his side."

"I am not taking his side. You think I liked hearing that garbage? I've seen these idiots before, Miles. I grew up in Central City. They all work the same way. If I had allowed you to take your anger out on him, he would have sued you for everything you had. How do you think these morons can afford to live that way? With that many witnesses and you being Ishvalan, I guarantee you would have been court-martialed, discharged from the military, and lost every penny you had. You might have even served jail time."

Miles knew she was right, but he was damned if he was going to admit that. "It would have been worth it."

She slapped him again. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought. How can you oversee the Ishval Restoration behind bars? If you had attacked him, you would have been proving everything he said about Ishvalans, right in front of dozens of Amestrian citizens."

That hurt. "Don't you think as champions of the Ishvalan Restoration it's our responsibility to stand up to him?"

"There are some people whose minds will never be changed, Miles, and those people are a waste of air. You could yell as loud as you want and show evidence of Ishvalans' humanity and intelligence all day and he'd still deny it. He's not worth anyone's time or energy, and he's certainly not worth ruining your life over."

Miles tightened his fists and wouldn't look at her, something he knew she hated. "You wouldn't understand. You didn't grow up in a desert hell with an entire country that hated you. You didn't lose your family to a senseless war." She was still maddeningly calm and he wanted her to feel what he was feeling. "You were safely sheltered in a damn _mansion_ with perfect skin, perfect eyes, perfect home life, and the perfect path set out for you. You'd never know what it feels like to be told you're not good enough."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

Her voice was quiet. Miles stood there, confused. Olivier got up and opened her suitcase. Tucked away in a zippered pocket at the very bottom, well hidden, was a folder that was stuffed full of paper. Some of it was newspaper clips, others were what looked like official military documents, and some were crudely handwritten notes. Olivier handed it to him. Miles stood there, waiting for her to explain. She didn't. He finally realized she wasn't going to speak or move until he took it from her, so he did.

"Read every single one of these papers and don't disturb me again until you have."

"All of them?" It was a thick folder.

"All of them."

"May I ask what the point of this is?"

"No."

Miles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but didn't resist the urge to slam her door on his way out. He sat on the bed of his own room, crossed his legs, and opened the folder. As soon as he did, paper came tumbling out. He picked up the smaller pieces and his red eyes widened at the chicken scratch handwriting. _Pussies don't belong in the military._ Tch. Why Olivier felt the need to hold onto that he had no idea. He read another. _You're dead meat, bitch._ Again, he couldn't imagine why Olivier kept that. _Go back to the kitchen where you belong._

Miles sifted through the handwritten notes, growing more shocked at how derogatory they were, some threatening to rape Olivier in graphic ways. Once he was finished, he moved on to the newspaper articles, hoping they would give him something slightly more peasant to read. _Armstrong Heiress Attempts to Join the Military Despite the Disability of Being Female._ Miles raised his white eyebrows. The article included a picture of Olivier—a young Olivier from the looks of it—being led away from Central headquarters in handcuffs. _The Amestrian military accepts only the strongest and the bravest of men who wish to serve their country, not dykes who want to pretend they're men._

Miles had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going, and the rest of the folder's contents proved him right. Page after page of material where people tried to claim that Olivier didn't belong in the military, despite her having out-performed all of her comrades. Some tried to be civil, claiming that men and women were simply built for different tasks, but others were downright nasty and full of awful names for the Major General. And what was even more shocking to Miles was that some of them were recent.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Okay, so Olivier did know something about discrimination. He had been wrong about that. _But still_ , he thought desperately. She hadn't been around during the war.

Nonetheless, Miles knew he owed her an apology. He set the folder to rights and knocked on her door.

"Have you developed something resembling intelligence, Major?" Olivier asked from behind it.

"I'm sorry," Miles said, getting right to the point. He heard the lock being turned and he opened the door. Olivier took the folder back and returned it to her bag.

"Do you always carry that with you?"

"Everywhere I go," Olivier said quietly, zipping it up.

"Why?" Miles asked in disgust. He couldn't fathom wanting to be constantly reminded of peoples' hate for him.

Olivier faced him, eyes glittering. "Because it strengthens my resolve and serves as a reminder of why I can never turn back. Why I'll never leave the military."

Miles was puzzled, then it hit him. "If you so much as retired, they'd think they were right."

"Proving those people wrong is a far more important and effective form of revenge than a fist in the face. There were men who claimed that I couldn't be a leader because women were too emotional and impulsive. If I had given into the temptation to flatten those scumbags, I would have proven them right. I saw that happen to other female officers and they always lived to regret it."

Miles sighed. "And if I had followed through on attacking…"

"You would have proven that Ishvalans are as violent and primal as he foolishly believes they are. By walking away, you showed everyone in that square that he was wrong."

Miles' fists shook and he swallowed hard. "He made me sound evil."

"He made _himself_ sound evil," Olivier said. "Nobody liked what he was saying, Miles. Because you didn't attack him, I guarantee the people of Central will form a far worse opinion of him than they will of you. He acted like a petulant child, and thanks to me, you acted like an adult."

Miles heaved a deep sigh, trying to release the tightness in his body. "Who knew that could be so damn hard?"

"Being the bigger person is always hard," Olivier told him. "And it isn't always useful. But in this case, you've proven to be a far greater man than he ever will."

Miles almost cracked a smile at that. A compliment from Olivier was rare indeed.

He hoped that someday he would feel worthy of it. And that maybe someday, Amestris would feel worthy of him.


End file.
